


Never Let Me Go

by Sanetwin



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanetwin/pseuds/Sanetwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I know how much Helena means to you so I wanted to put her in the best scenario I could think of: happily aged with a warm sweater and the person she loves most.</p><p>Also, I know you love the ocean. So I hope you enjoy this</p>
    </blockquote>





	Never Let Me Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [piggy09](https://archiveofourown.org/users/piggy09/gifts).



> I know how much Helena means to you so I wanted to put her in the best scenario I could think of: happily aged with a warm sweater and the person she loves most.
> 
> Also, I know you love the ocean. So I hope you enjoy this

When you saw her last, you thought of the sea. You thought of long, black waves curling in on themselves, emptying into choppy nothingness. There wasn't anything in the world more desolate. 

Her hair was a mass of seaweed combing through the world; its wiry stems expanded, drowning creatures in its fatal net, as if reaching for something unseen. Her mood gripped her like the moon, pulling her into frenetic tides both high and low. Words ebbed from her in sibilant sighs and crashing roars, mimicking a language she yearned to understand. 

Now she leans back into a burgundy leather chair, feet crossed over a stool, eyes closed. You almost can't believe the wrinkles underlining her eyes, like impressions in the sand; her yellow hair swells around her head like sea foam from the the tip of a crawling wave. Her arms lay on the armrests like algae on the water surface; her grip is slack and gentle, not at all like the riptide force she once exerted.

The same sea survives within her, swirling along the lining of her stomach, but it's calmer now. You can't believe it, and your eyes cast around her like hooks, hoping to catch an explanation. 

The parka she used to wear is gone, you notice; green-brown and gory, it was quietly washed, stitched, and retired into a coffin at the bottom of the closet, like a fallen soldier.

In its place, a net of seaweed lay enclosed around her-- or, perhaps a sweater.

The thick strands of green thread interweave together like clasped hands and hold diamonds of blank space in a strange crotchet design. In the center of the sweater sits the design of a blooming water lily; a heart of infinite petals created by green thread and blank diamonds.

Can it be? All the sorrow of the sea satiated by a single sweater. Impossible. But then you see it--

Her fingers toy with a loose thread on her wrist, looping it around and around the other strands. Then you notice the fringing edges, the loose knots, and the inconsistent diamond shapes inbetween each thread. 

The hands that made this sweater were inexperienced. 

You can imagine the gentle curse words muttered as two hands loop around, under, and over a knitting needle-- occasionally pricking a pink fingertip against the pointed edge. You can imagine the hours spent searching for the perfect flower design; the miles of tangled thread discarded in the trash. 

Two hands, joints aching, fingers bleeding, carefully tightened string into a design of a water lily.

Two hands learned how to crochet.

Two hands looked up the meaning of a water lily.

Two hands love her.

**Author's Note:**

> "And it's breaking over me  
> A thousand miles down to the sea bed  
> Found the place to rest my head  
> Never let me go  
> Never let me go  
> Never let me go  
> Never let me go"  
> \-- Florence and the Machine


End file.
